One Lovely Blog Award

A big thank you to Jocelyn at shewhohears/aspiritualwanderersperspective for the nomination.  “Joss” is a woman who has struggled with homelessness and addiction.  She is open and honest when she writes about her struggles and her determination to make a better world for herself.  It is heartbreaking but also inspiring.  If you don’t already follow her, give her a read.

The Rules:

1.  Display the award on a post.

2.  Thank the person who nominated you.

3.  Share 7-15 facts about yourself.

4.  Nominate 9-15 bloggers for the award.

 

Facts About Me:

1.  I was diagnosed with an almost perfect eidetic memory.  (Had I honed it, I might could be working for…I don’t know…somebody who gives a shit?)

2.  My ring finger is longer than my index finger on both hands, which supposedly means that I am charming, pragmatic, incredibly compassionate, an excellent problem solver and I would make a great engineer, soldier or CEO.
It says if you are none of those, it may be time to re-evaluate.  (What the fuck does that mean?  Chop off the tips of my fingers?)

3.  The older I get, the better my eyesight gets.  (Now, if everything else begins to regenerate, you may have to start calling me Benjameena Button.)

4.  I had natural childbirth with all four of my children.  I never screamed once but I was screamed at and admonished for asking for a sip of water.  (If I could do it all over, I would say “bring me some drugs and while you’re at it….tell that piece of shit asshole to get the fuck out of here.”)

5.  People have looked at me and said “you don’t have a mean bone in your body, do you?”  (True…but if you betray me or fuck with one of my children, I will tell you to be afraid.  Be VERY afraid.)

6.  I have been told that I would be an excellent investigative reporter or an undercover police officer.  (I can go from my sweet Southern Belle “I have always relied upon the kindness of strangers” to a badass who will say “I will drop you where you fucking stand.”)

7.  I had Scarlet Fever when I was a child, which went untreated and consequently damaged my heart.  I now suffer from SVT.  (Hey.  After having being damaged and broken so many times, if my poor little heart can still beat 220 times a minute, I know I’m not dead.)

8.  I love to walk through The Home Depot and Lowes’.  I also love it when some little snot-nosed guy asks where my husband is, if I have a question.  (“See this chainsaw, Jack?  I know how to crank it and I know how to use it.  If you ask me that again, I am going to cut off all the protruding parts of your body and that includes that itty bitty thing in your pants.”)

9.  I love potted meat, although I don’t eat it anymore.  It was one of the few “meats” that my grandparents could afford.  (For those of you who don’t know what it is, I think it’s made from frog hairs, fish eyes, chicken beaks and discarded penis foreskin.  Yum.)

10.  When I was born, the doctor told my mama and daddy that they had a ten pound baby boy.  (Since I’m a girl, could it be possible that when the circumcision was being performed, the scalpel slipped?  Hey. Maybe my little dingy ended up in a can of potted meat.)

My Nominees:

I nominate anybody who would like to participate.

“Wind Spirit”

She was a sight to behold.  Nobody had ever seen a horse like her.  She was a beauty…completely white with a jet black blaze.  She soon became mythical and her legend put the small town of Bonebluff on the map.

The myth surrounding her was that she was the one horse nobody was ever going to ride…or break.

She was as fast as lightning and had been dubbed “Wind Spirit” by the town.  Catching her would be like trying to catch a fast-moving storm.  Men came from far and wide.  Many of them tried and many of them failed but not everybody gave up so easily.

One day a stranger rode into town.  He was a self-assured cowboy who introduced himself as Jesse.  Word had it, he was from the hills of North Carolina and had made his way out west in search of Wind Spirit.  Tales of her had traveled all the way to the East coast.
Jesse made his living breaking horses for ranchers….horses that were “unbreakable.”  His business card proudly boasted “ain’t no man can’t be throwed.  Ain’t no horse can’t be rode.”

There was no reward for the capture of Wind Spirit, just bragging rights for having done so and Jesse had it in his mind to claim those rights.
He had never encountered a horse like her before.  Sometimes, it was as if Wind Spirit was playing with him.  She would let him get close and just as he was about to dismount his horse, she would bolt as quickly as a speeding bullet.

After months and months of trying, it became clear to Jesse that he had met his match.  There were going to be no bragging rights and his reputation was going to suffer but for some reason, it didn’t seem to matter.  He had developed an almost reverence for her.
When he finally gave up, he rode up to the hills for one last look.  As she stood in front of him, he tipped his hat in a gesture of respect, turned his horse around and rode out of town.

Not long after, another stranger rode in, known as the cowboy.  He seemed to have an air of superiority and expected everybody to acknowledge it.  When asked what his business was, he simply replied “I’m here to claim a prize.”  That prize was Wind Spirit.
People laughed and told him it would take a better man than him…but this cowboy was different.  He had learned the ways of Native Americans for catching and taming wild horses.

He was determined and driven but he was patient.  He slowly gained trust from Wind Spirit.  Instead of trying to rope her, he took off his shirt and let her smell it.  He rubbed it up and down her back.  He was getting her used to his scent.
Before long, he managed to slip a bridle on her neck.  That day, she became his.

The townsfolk gasped as he came riding Wind Spirit down the street.  He had a satisfied smile on his face and strolled by as if he was wearing an invisible crown.  Although it was apparent that Wind Spirit hadn’t completely surrendered, he had done it.  He had caught the uncatchable.  He had touched the untouchable.  He had conquered the unconquerable.  He did what he came to do.  He had claimed his prize.
After a deep jab with his spurs into her sides, and the crack of a whip, he and Wind Spirit disappeared into a cloud of dust.

Years went by and in the town saloon, the usual old timers sat at the table, playing poker, drinking whiskey and wiping tobacco stains from their chins onto their shirt sleeves.  They were just old men, talking about old women and old times and old legends.  Festus was pushing eighty and was by far the oldest but he had a remarkable memory and loved to tell stories of days gone by.  He started talking about the mysterious cowboy who had come to take Wind Spirit away.  He captured their attention as he told the tale.  Then, he quietly wondered aloud “I wonder whatever happened to her.”

A lone cowboy sat at the bar, staring into his glass of whiskey.  A closer look would have revealed that the man was Jesse.
He heard that after the cowboy had beaten Wind Spirit into complete submission, he put her out to pasture.  The cowboy hadn’t cared about Wind Spirit.  He had only cared about breaking her.  He had only cared about winning.  It was that night that Jesse decided he was going to find her.

He tracked the cowboy down and when he saw Wind Spirit, he almost dropped to his knees.  She was tied to a post and was so disfigured and beaten down that he hardly recognized the beauty she used to be.  The letter B had been deeply carved into her left flank.
As Jesse ran his hand across the scar, the cowboy smiled and said “this is my mark.  It stands for BROKEN.”

Jesse wasn’t sure but he thought Wind Spirit might have recognized him as she gave a slight nod when he gently stroked her mane. He whispered to her that he was going to take her home.  Jesse asked the cowboy how much he would take for her.  The cowboy said “just take her.  She’s useless.”

Jesse made good on his word and took her home.  People stood in silence as she slowly and painfully walked down the street.  A few of the old men had tears in their eyes as they watched her struggle.  Gone was the beauty who used to be the envy of every cowboy.

Jesse and Wind Spirit made it back to her beloved hills.  When he took the rope from around her neck, she used every ounce of strength she had left to make a gallant run before she collapsed.  She had one last taste of freedom.

Jesse buried her that same day.  There is no monument.  There is but a tiny cross made of sticks which will, in time disappear.  But her memory will live on…in tales told by old men, who sit around and play poker, drink whiskey and wipe tobacco stains from their chins with their shirt sleeves.

Nobody ever saw Jesse again after that day.

Word soon traveled to Bonebluff that the cowboy had been found hanging from a tree.  A large J had been carved into his chest and a note was pinned to his shirt.  It was written in his own blood.

The note said “this is my mark.  It stands for JUSTICE.” 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

A Double Anniversary

One year ago today, I posted my very first blog.  It was titled “The Beginning.”

The Loser puppet was finalizing his plans to take the WTC puppet-master for a three-week trip to Denmark and Norway.  The WTC puppet-master wanted to make sure I knew he was taking her so she sent me a message.  She’s so very thoughtful.

I didn’t know at the time that it was also the day my divorce became final.  How ironic that I picked that day for my first post.  I didn’t find out until late in September. (The Loser puppets’ attorney seems to have had a little more on the ball than mine did.)  I don’t know when I would have found out, had my financial planner not called me to go over a few things and said he had a copy.

Since then, my life has changed in ways that I would have never dreamed it would.  I never call myself “divorced.”  I call myself “single.”  I think you had to have had a real marriage to actually be divorced.  I consider myself to just be free from a lifetime of physical, mental and emotional neglect and abuse.

I got rid of him.  I got rid of his name.  I got rid of everything that was ever “ours.”  I got rid of everything he ever gave me, whether out of guilt or obligation.  I got rid of my car because he had driven it.

Just today, I finally read the last email he sent to me on August 17th, 2015.  I think today would be a good day to go back almost ten years, and delete every message from him. I have deleted him from my life but there are some things that I can’t delete.

I can’t delete the horrendous thing he did to me that has left me emotionally scarred and grief-stricken for the last thirty-eight years.
I can’t delete the first betrayal years later, that left me with an incurable disease and tarnished me for the rest of my life. I can’t delete the way he and his WTC puppet-master have manipulated my children into thinking they’re “the good guys” and I’m insane.

He took things from me.  He took my youth.  He took my trust.  He took my faith in fidelity.  He took my health. He destroyed the only family that I had ever felt was truly mine.

Sometimes, I wish my children wanted to know the whole truth.  Sometimes, I wish they could understand how it feels to be betrayed by the one person you trusted above all others.  They are so much like him in so many ways. Opt for the easy way out.  Choose what makes you comfortable. Choose the one who was never there for you but is pretending to be now.  Choose the path of least resistance.

I have essentially deleted my children from my life as well. I can’t be in their lives as long as they openly welcome and embrace the very people who did everything they could to destroy me.
They are triggers for me.  They bring back memories of how things used to be.  They make me anguish over what might be.  They have children that I will never know or see grow up.
They are ecstatic that the Loser puppet is happy.  If they were still in my life, that would spill over onto me but not with wishes for my happiness.  There would be accusations and admonitions for not crawling out of my “dark place.” They would think that I should embrace the woman who was fucking my husband (and telling him to warn me that I’d better not come to South Carolina again.)  They would think that I should treat her like part of the family.  They would think I should act like the Loser puppet is a really good friend of mine.

They share the Loser puppets’ views as far as…there should never be any consequences for immoral behavior or vitriolic hostility.  There should only be blame for the victim, who is unable to grasp the effects of betrayal and abuse.

I think I have always known that I would end up alone and that’s okay.  I am alone.  I finally broke out of my torture cell.  I removed myself from the people who hurt me so badly and made me so sad.  I removed myself from the people who made me feel worthless…the people who screamed at me and made me feel like I didn’t matter.

Will I think about my children on their birthdays?  Of course.  Will I send them wishes?  No.  Will I think about them on Thanksgiving and Christmas?  I will try not to because I seriously doubt that they will be thinking about me.

I won’t say that I don’t care.  I will just say that I can’t care. I’ve already suffered too much.  I spent my entire life wishing that I had a mama I could talk to.  I hope none of my children ever wake up and wish that they could talk to theirs.

So, I have a different life now.  I have a different world.  I am free.  I feel like I finally won.

But…I guess you could say this is a Pyrrhic victory.  I finally won…but it cost me everything.

 

 

The World Of Bobby Jo

Bobby Jo loved to spend summers at her grandma and grandpas’ house.  The long, steamy days and nights didn’t bother her at the tender age of ten.  The smell of cow manure, mixed with wild honeysuckle didn’t bother her either. There were acres of land to be explored and she wanted to explore them all.

Bobby Jo was a prankster.  Once she took the bell off of Bessie the cow.  She sneaked up to the house and started ringing the bell.  Through the window, she could see grandma clasp her hands together and say “el, I wished I’m a die.  Bessie’s got loose and is traipsing around all over the place.”
Bobby Jo giggled as she quickly hid when grandma came outside.  It didn’t take long for grandma to know what Bobby Jo had done but she didn’t get mad.  She just laughed and said “you little scamp, you.  Go put that bell back on Bessie.”

Sometimes when grandma was cooking and got the milk out, Bobby Jo would wait until she turned around and put the milk back in the icebox.  Grandma would say “I could have sworn I got that milk out.”  After she used it, she would put it back in the icebox and Bobby Joe would take it back out and sit it back on the table.  This would go on and on until grandma finally caught on.
Grandma had a good sense of humor and she enjoyed Bobby Jo’s playfulness.

A family bought the old Simpson farm just down the road. Bobby Jo heard they had a little girl, so she wandered down the hill toward the house.  Sure enough, she saw a little girl.  Bobby Jo and never been shy so she just walked up and introduced herself.

The little girls’ name was Carla Jean.  After Bobby Jo met her parents, she asked if Carla Jean could come up the hill to her house.  Carla Jeans’ parents said “sure, as long as you’re back before dark.”

Bobby Jo and Carla Jean skipped, hand in hand, up the hill.  When they got to the house, Bobby Jo took Carla Jean in to meet her grandma.  Grandma was pleased to meet her and promised a homemade blueberry pie, after they got settled in a little more.

Grandma was busy washing clothes.  She still used a washboard and a big tin bucket.  She said “now, you girls go on out and play.  I have to finish washing up these clothes and get dinner started before grandpa gets home.” Bobby Jo looked at Carla Jean, rolled her eyes and said “okay, grandma.”  As they were walking out, grandma said “now, stay away from that old shed.  You don’t want grandpa to have to get after you.”

Bobby Jo again looked at Carla Jean and said “don’t pay her no never-mind.  My mama says she’s a little touched in the head.”
Carla Jean said “what do you mean?”  Bobby Jo said “well, before I was born, grandpa went fishin’ down to the lake and he ain’t never come back.”  Carla Jean asked what happened.
Bobby Jo said “all I know is, my mama said they ain’t never found a hide nor a hair.  Sometimes late at night, I hear grandma talking to him, just like he was in the room.” Carla Jean said “are you scared?”  Bobby Jo said “nah.  She talks to him all the time.”

Bobby Jo asked Carla Jean if she wanted to go look at the old shed.  Carla Jean said “but your grandma told us not to go in there.”  Bobby Jo said “I know, but I go in there all the time…and you know what?  Sometimes, the floors are wet and it smells like fish.  Come on…let’s go in.”  Carla Jean said she didn’t want to.

It wasn’t going to be long before dark, so Bobby Jo and Carla Jean started heading back to the house.  Grandma came out and said “grandpa must be running late.  He should have been back by now.”  Carla Jean looked at Bobby Jo and Bobby Jo said “remember, don’t pay her no mind.”

Right after grandma went back into the house, Bobby Jo and Carla Jean saw a dark figure coming toward them.  He was carrying fishin’ poles and a bucket.  Bobby Jo said “it can’t be!”

Carla Jean turned as white as a sheet.  She started running down the hill as fast as her little legs would carry her.

Bobby Jo was giggling as she ran up and said “hey, grandpa.  Did you catch anything?”

 

Blogger Recognition Award

A big thank you to Stephanie at makingtimeforme for the nomination.  Stephanie is a wonderful blogger who is supportive and encouraging.  She’s quick to promote anothers’ work and delves into the lives of those we may tend to discount…like teenagers.  She posts about her own life, divorce, remarriage and her struggles with being a step-mom. She is gracious with those of us who don’t understand how to do something.  She is always more than willing to help. If  you don’t already follow her, give her a read.  You’ll be glad you did.

The Rules:

1.  Thank the blogger who nominated you.

2.  Write a post and display the award.

3.  Give a brief story on how your blog started.

4.  Give a piece of advice to new bloggers.

5.  Select up to 15 other bloggers you want to give the award to.

6.  Comment on each blog and let them know you nominated them.

How My Blog Started:

I am not sure exactly how my blog started.  The only thing I knew about blogs and WordPress came from my dear friend, who died from a brain tumor and blogged about his fight to survive….and a brave fight it was.  I revisit his blog from time to time, although it is painful.  I still remember this wonderful, intelligent, strong, strapping man who was a true friend.  He would have been the one I turned to for advice on “how to blog”, had he lived.

I think my youngest daughter, probably in an attempt to help ease my grief, suggested that “we” write a blog.  So…I decided to write about the journey of my life….the struggles, the disappointments, the losses and what seems to be a losing battle of recovery.

Advice To New Bloggers:

The one thing I wish I had been more knowledgeable about was how to “tag.”  If you are a new blogger and are as computer illiterate as I was (am), it helps.  As far as content, there are so many bloggers out there with entirely different kinds of posts and they are all wonderful reads.  I would say to write what you want to write.

Follow other bloggers and be supportive.  Comment on their work.  Let them know you read their posts and appreciate them.  You will make some wonderful friends here.  They will become your family…your “band of bloggies.”

Don’t get discouraged if you only have a few followers in the beginning.  Keep writing, if only for yourself.  It can be cathartic.  It can be healing.  It can be the reason you get off of your sofa.

My Nominees:

1.  Tosha Michelle

2.  myworldshattered

3.  A@moylomenterprises

4.  euphoriciraqisinglemom

5.  chloe88blog

6.  Blue Sky

7.  creativerational

8.  shavingshards

9.  RobertGoldstein

 

 

 

 

 

 

Entertainer Blogger Award

A big thank you to Stephanie at makingtimeforme for the nomination.  She is (to use the words of another blogger describing her) a prolific blogger.  She writes about all sorts of things, is tremendously supportive and unselfishly promotes other bloggers’ work.  Her “spotlights” and “weekly updates” are well worth viewing.

The Rules:

• Write a post with the award picture shown above.

•  Nominate up to 12 other bloggers who are funny, inspiring, and most of all ENTERTAINING!

•  Thank the person who nominated you by tagging their blog.

•  Answer the five questions listed below.

The five questions are:

1.  Why did you start a blog in the first place?
I think I remember my youngest daughter saying “let’s do a blog.”  I had no idea what I was doing but I thought I’d give it a shot.

2.  What is your favorite book?
I always struggle with this question because I don’t read books.  The only book I ever read was Ambulance Girl so I guess it would be my favorite.

3.  What do you dislike the most?
I dislike injustice, prejudice, infidelity, dishonor, immorality, liars and narrow-mindedness.

4.  What is your favorite food item from the mall?
I haven’t been to a mall in more than twenty years but when I used to go, I would always get a Barnies’ coffee (long before Starbucks) and a Cinnabon with an extra cup of icing.

5.  What is your favorite pastime activity?
Probably blogging.

My nominees:

1.  Robert Goldstein
2.  Spearfruit
3.  theword36
4.  shavingshards
5.  creativerational
6.  samlobos
7.  A@moylomenterprises
8.  Tikeetha T

Another Leibster Award

A big thank you to innerramblingsblvd for the nomination!  They are a couple of ghost writers whose work ranges from musical to erotica.  They post lots of videos and the writing is always so meaningful.  They are staunch supporters of their followers and never fail to comment with heartfelt and encouraging responses.  If you don’t already follow them, give them a look.

These are their questions for me:

1.  What was the scariest moment in your life?
I would have to say when I had to meet with a drug dealer in the middle of the woods because the Loser puppet told me to get his computer back and he didn’t care how I did it.  (My son sold it.)

2.  What or who inspires your writing?
My life.

3.  How have you overcome writers’ block?
I just don’t write for a while.

4.  Are you published?  Would you like to be published?
No.  Maybe.

5.  What do you think is your best poem or poetry?
Maybe “A Short Story” but I don’t consider anything I write as being very good.

6.  What is your favorite novel?
I don’t have one.

7.  If you could meet an author, who would you meet?
I’ve met Robert Penn Warren but only because he was one of the Loser puppets’ favorite authors.  Not being a reader, I don’t have an answer.

8.  If you were trapped on an island, what three items would you have?
Water, a compass and a raft.

9.  What is one thing in the world you’d like to change?
Injustice.

10. How long have you been writing?
I’ve been blogging almost a year.

The Rules:

Thank the person who nominated you and post a link to their blog.

Try to include a little promotion for the person who nominated you.

Display the award on your blog post.

Provide 10 random facts about yourself.

Nominate 5-11 bloggers that you feel deserve the award and notify them that they have been nominated.

Ask them to answer ten questions.

Ten Random Facts About Me:

1.  I always wear a gold St. Jude (the patron saint of lost causes) pendant around my neck.

2.  I have no discernible wrinkles on my forehead…a trait I got from my mama.  At eighty, she didn’t
have a single wrinkle on her forehead.

3.  I can raise both of my eyebrows (ala Scarlett O’Hara) alternately.  I used to entertain my
children and they would try and try to do it but none of them have ever been able to.  I have never
met anybody else who could do it either.

4.  When I give up something, I give it up.  I used to drink 3 or 4 pots of coffee every day.  About ten years ago, I decided to stop.  I used to drink 8 or 9 gallons of milk a week.  Three years ago, I decided I was going to stop.  I have never even had a sip since.  I never miss what I give up.  I never have any kind of withdrawal.  It’s another quality that people “admire” and also think makes me “crazy.”  (“Nobody says I’m quitting something and just does it.  That’s crazy.”)

5.  I can tie a knot in a cherry stem with my tongue.

6.  I know a pressure point that can disable or kill you using only my thumb.  (Learned in EMS and no, I will not tell you.)

7.  I despise cooking, although I used to be a pretty good one.  I find the idea right on up there with sticking forks in my eyes.

8.  If I had a choice of a sunny day or a rainy day, I would pick the latter.  I have always loved rainy days.

9.  I have a younger sister who I have only seen five times in the last 61 years.

10. I once worked for the telephone company as an information operator.  Back then, we literally used a phone book to look up numbers.

My questions are the same questions that were asked of me.

Since so many bloggers are award free, I tend to nominate the few who still accept awards.  Also, the Leibster Award is for bloggers with less than 200 followers.  I have surpassed that number (many thanks to my followers) and some of my nominees have, I’m sure but not all have the number posted.

My nominees are:

1.  survivednarc

2.  angelicakidd

3.  creativerational

4.  socialworkerangela

6.  learningtolivelikewater

7.  myworldshattered

8.  painkills2

9.  samlobos

10.  simplyEttad